


Steel

by cadkitten



Series: DCU Bang 2018 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bondage, Breathplay, Catfishing, Chains, Coming Out, Confessions, Denial, Emotional, Fetish, Flogging, Gay Male Character, Heteronormative Thought Processes, Kinks, Lies, Masturbation, Mental Anguish, Multi, Orgasm, Painplay, Phone Sex, Porn, Research, Sexual Frustration, Subdrop, Suicidal Thoughts, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Wax Play, size comparison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: He'd do what he'd been trained to do: he'd work it out on the streets until he there wasn't room left for these thoughts, these emotions, until there was nothing but a shell left to carry him home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tandem signup with DiscoDayz for art/fic DC Bang - 10k  
> Beta: kate1zena
> 
> I'll be up front here, the Damian Wayne/OFC is due to him going to a sex club at one point and a phone sex line at another. I know some of my past fandoms didn't like original characters and would avoid because of that, so fear not, he's not in a relationship with said women!

Exhaustion hedged into Damian's bones as he pulled himself onto the highest ledge in Gotham. The hulking structure of a building, long-since abandoned and half-constructed, stood in the midst of downtown and it made the perfect vantage point. He settled, feet dangling over the edge, arm looped carefully around the rebar as he allowed the night – and the day prior – to catch up with him. 

He'd spent the first few hours of his day doing an annual clean of his room, purging old items – frayed paintbrushes, half dried paints, pants that no longer fit, underwear worn one too many times, mismatched socks, and random items he'd collected that held little to no true meaning to him. Some he could donate to the boy's home Colin had come from, but other pieces just went into the trash.

While this little project shouldn't have been an issue, the fact that he'd found a long-forgotten purchase he'd made in a fit of weakness buried in one of his bottom drawers _was_ an issue. The DVD was what could probably be qualified as racy, though not technically pornographic and the main couple had been two men. At the time, he'd thought to himself that he could get it and put it amongst his other DVDs without question from anyone, that he could watch it in place of the things he truly wanted to watch, but he'd chickened out before ever unwrapping it, buried it deep in his drawer and resolved to forget about it. And forget about it, he had.

He'd sat there for what felt like hours just staring down at the cover, at the images that had drawn him to the movie and had coerced him in his weakest moments to buy such a thing and it had left something raw and open inside him. It was a pain bursting somewhere in his chest and it felt just like it always did: like gasoline creeping toward the lit match inside him. He felt _helpless_ , lost and angry like he hadn't in so long. 

He closed his eyes and tipped his face up to the sky, battling the self-pity, the anguish of denial, and the fragile tremor in his hands. Swallowing down his emotions, he forced himself to stand. He'd do what he'd been trained to do: he'd work it out on the streets until he there wasn't room left for these thoughts, these emotions, until there was nothing but a shell left to carry him home. 

Taking out his grapple, he aimed and then stepped off the ledge, his breath catching for a second before he shot at the neighboring building and waited on the fall to stop, on the harsh crack of the line, on the inevitable and maybe _maybe_ some part of him wished in that second for the improbable just as much. 

The line caught and a moment later his feet landed solidly on the side of the building and he repelled down some twenty stories, leaping off into the alley and taking a second to orient himself before making an operative decision on his direction, darting off into Hood's territory. He hadn't done this in a while, hadn't given in to the ferocity in his blood, but tonight it had been all he could manage to stay his hands before they went too far, before he found himself benched _or worse_. Long ago he'd been told he was always welcome in Jason's end of the world, welcome to vent his frustrations on certain groups, and Jason would always be there to back him up.

He hit his comm and flicked the channels until he hit his and Jason's encrypted line. "Robin inbound, give me the pulse."

The line crackled to life in his ear and he could hear Jason's heavy breathing across the line, a grunt of exertion and the sound of a silenced gun being fired. "Something hot going down on Maple and Twenty-Seventh. Haven't had the chance to get out of this end. Mop it for me and I owe you one."

"Needed for questioning... or?" he left the question hanging in the air, allowed Jason to fill in his own blanks like he always did.

"Need the redheaded woman if she's there, could give a shit about the rest. If you see a heavy set guy, blind in the left eye, slight limp–" another grunt and the sharp crack of Jason hitting someone with something and a yowl of pain from whoever it was, "–tell him I said hello." It was the signal Damian needed, the one that cleansed the anger from his soul and the frustration from his veins. It was enough to know that if Jason wanted the guy dead, he was lower than scum, but he also needed the information for his own conscience, for the promises he was breaking to his father every time he did this. 

"What'd he do?"

"Child trafficking and a known association with a sex ring. You tell me."

Anger riled up inside Damian and that was all he needed. "Consider it done." He cut the line and continued his course toward Maple, rage waring with the pain already inside him, all exhaustion forgotten in the face of this task. 

Some things deserved Jason's heavy hand, something most of them could agree on, and Damian privately thought even Bruce understood or he'd have stopped Jason long ago. Instead, he allowed him to operate as long as the actual deaths were minimal, as long as there was explanation behind them if Bruce demanded it of him. If he knew his own son was involving himself, he never said, but Damian didn't doubt at least someone had figured it out in the past few years, as his ability to deal with himself had waned and his anger had increased because of it. 

He paused by one of Jason's drops, scanned himself in and traded his equipment: his Robin costume for simple black, his subdual weaponry for their lethal counterparts. As he holstered his guns he promised himself only the necessary people would die tonight. He wouldn't leave Jason with more trouble than he needed on his tail. 

Slipping out into the night, he sent up a silent prayer than tonight wouldn't be the night he lost that last delicate line of self-control. He took a deep breath of Gotham's stinking air and steeled himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: For those interested, the artworks in his room are [William Etty - Femme nue de dos 1825](http://tarkus-magicmac.blogspot.com/2012/09/colours-william-etty.html) and [Theodor Gericault - Study of seated male from behind 1816](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6N4h6r6MqrI/ULsrHu0wAaI/AAAAAAAAJrI/0tsZgKKWBms/s1600/theodore-gericault-male-nude-1339253235_b.jpg). (Why no, I did not spend like an hour trying to find these just to hang them in Damian's room... I'm lying, I totally did.)

Damian sat on the edge of his bed, staring down into his trashcan. He'd woken up, taken his shower and by the time he'd come out, Alfred had visited his room, tidied up everything, and the DVD he'd shoved into the trash had ended up settled on the dresser beside his trashcan, as if Alfred had fished it out, thinking it had unintentionally fallen into the bin. He'd promptly thrown the offending disc right back into the trash, panic hedging into his vision, leaving it shadowy at the sides until he'd forced himself to breathe properly. 

Alfred wouldn't read anything into it, wouldn't think about it as hard as Damian himself did. He wasn't the League and he certainly wasn't the kids at school who'd accused him of the truth a hundred times before he'd graduated. His hands clenched and unclenched until he finally ripped the DVD back out of the trashcan and slit the plastic wrap with his thumbnail. Popping open the case, he tugged the insert out and crumpled it, pitching it back into the trashcan. Freeing the disc from the plastic spindle, he stared down at it for a few agonizing seconds and then cracked it in half, dropping both pieces back into the can, a hitch in his breath he'd have had a hard time explaining if someone had come in right then.

Kicking the trashcan back into place between his bed and the dresser, he took the now empty case and stuffed it in his DVD shelf for future use. Standing next to his window, he glowered out at the freshly mowed lawn, that dull panging ache rising in his chest again. It was too much; had always been too much. From the very day he'd understood why he wasn't like the people he associated with, he'd understood he had a burden to carry. 

He remembered the few rays of hope he'd found and how much he'd wished he could grasp onto them, thrive within them. Tim's remark of how he was pansexual and how, no, that did not mean he was attracted to _pans_ when Dick had so much as moved his mouth to make a comment. Damian sincerely doubted that had been the remark on his tongue – even Grayson had more tact than that – but Tim had bristled at anyone _breathing_ in those next few moments and so, no one had made any comment at all. Damian had seen hope there, someone he thought maybe he could find similarity in. After all, he was dating Stephanie and that had meant someone could be attracted to men and still be with a woman. Maybe there was just... a trick to it. 

That hope had been short-lived and crushed so quickly he'd recoiled from any fantasies he'd ever had of speaking with Tim, of finding some way to coexist within the demands of his roles in life and the desires of his heart and body. He knew what his mother wanted, knew what his father _needed_ and what he understood inherently to be who he truly was just wasn't within it. He'd tried to go to Tim, had found him on a rooftop and had quietly tried to bring up the subject of Tim's pansexuality, but he must have done something wrong. He'd never seen Tim get so angry so quick. Given he'd once tried to kill the guy, he was pretty sure this was a topic he was never to try to breach again. And so, with that moment, that ray of hope had died as well. 

He'd lived the next few years in a lie, trying desperately to _pretend_ to like women. He'd made some pretty crass comments that Dick had eventually called him on in some effort to appear like the rest of them did. He tried to see women as potential partners, as someone to love for the rest of his life and people he wanted to couple with, but he failed at every turn. Instead, he grew bitter each time it came up, every time some socialite paraded their daughter out in front of him. His stomach dropped every time he saw a racy image or one of his family showed him 'some hot chick' on Instagram or Twitter. 

It'd finally gotten so bad he went with the only lie that preserved his sanity. Whenever the subject came up of when he'd date, his answer became, "Not interested." Whenever someone wanted to talk about someone being hot, he'd just put on his Robin face and stare at them in complete boredom until they shut up and stopped asking. If something racy came on TV, he'd simply remove himself from the room, regardless of if it happened to be something he wanted to see or not, and played it safer and safer until he wouldn't even talk about sex or romance or any of it. He played it as if he were closer to the other end of the spectrum, hoping against hope that maybe people would leave him alone and they'd just assume he'd fulfill his duties out of obligation one day regardless of how he felt toward sex or romance. 

When one of the boys in his senior year of high school had come out as gay, Damian had seen hope open up in front of him. Like the first light in his perpetual darkness, he'd watched the boy like a hawk, watched how he was treated, how he walked through life, and he kept tabs on him even when it wasn't really any of his business. He blamed it on being a Bat, but the truth was, he just wanted to know how it would be to not have to lie anymore. 

He watched the relief and the happiness, watched a once quiet kid blossom under the positive attention... and then he'd seen his heart and soul crushed by the cruelty of others, by a horrible _joke_ one of the other kids had played on him across social media. He saw the pain and the agony worse than the way he'd been before coming out and Damian had crushed his own hope to dust in his mind. He'd strung up the person responsible – somewhat literally – the following night with a sign remarking that the guy was a damn asshole strapped to his chest and left him for the kids to find in the morning. No lethal force, just shaming a guilty jerk for what he'd done.

There had been one semester of college where Damian had departed the manor, holed himself up in Blüdhaven with Dick instead and attended university there. He'd felt more accepted under Dick's roof without a single word being said, but it had still been a weighing ache in his chest, words he could never speak, and he took to reminding himself daily of his obligations. He was the heir and he was to produce another heir. He was his mother's only son. His father's only son. There would never be another for Bruce and he was fairly certain the same was true of Talia after what had come of him.

He'd spent a semester hearing Dick's post-patrol activities through the wall, his mind and body beyond confused. The low sounds of the porn playing on Dick's laptop sounds Damian knew, but hated. The high-pitched whimpering cries of a woman supposedly in passion – Damian privately thought they sounded like they were being tortured – and the deeper grunts of a male coupling with her. Those sounds left him vaguely nauseous, deeply uncomfortable, and at times left him with his pillow shoved over his head hoping Dick would hurry up and finish. At times Dick would remember to use headphones and those were the nights Damian seriously deliberated banging on his door and demanding he stop, but that would have been admitting he heard the slick sounds of Dick's hand on his own cock, heard the little breathless gasps, the muffled moans as he came. Those nights left Damian aching and horrified. He _hated_ how his body responded to someone he thought of as his brother. Hated how his mind presented him potential images of how Dick looked, and hated more how he couldn't calm down for hours after those sessions. 

He spent more sleepless nights in Dick's home than he ever had at the manor and when the semester had come to an end, he'd claimed himself _too smart_ to be attending BHU and had instead enrolled in online only courses from several major universities. He disliked doing his courses online, but it had been the only thing that wouldn't break Dick's heart when he moved out and went back to the manor. The truth of it was, Damian couldn't take it anymore, _knew_ he'd break eventually, that he'd give in and do something he could never undo if he stayed. So, he left. 

It had taken a while for those images to fade and for the memory of Dick's quiet little sounds not to haunt him in the dead of the night. It had taken even longer to look Dick in the face again and only see his brother. 

Damian shifted, turning so his back was against the wall and slid down until he was crouching, his head resting against the wall. Reaching up, he dug the heels of his hands against his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. Dwelling never did him any good. He knew he had to hide what he really wanted; he didn't have a choice in the matter if he wanted to be the good son he was supposed to be. 

There was only one solution: find a way to be even vaguely attracted to a woman.

He knew he could be good to whomever he found, could probably even learn to love her. After all, love came in many different forms and while it would never be romantic love, he could find other sources of love to provide her with. He'd make sure whoever he ended up with never wanted for a thing: he'd give her affection in ways that didn't drag his stomach into his toes, could even arrange something so that if she wanted to be with others, he would simply let her be and turn a blind eye. All he had to do was continue the charade of his sexuality, couple with her enough times to provide an heir, and then dust his hands of the whole sexual bit and be the best man he could possibly be for her in every single other way. Surely _someone_ could understand out there and maybe they wouldn't even see through his lie of omission. 

Dropping his hands to his lap, Damian stared hollowly at the opposing wall, at the framed prints of a nude male by Theodore Gericault and the image of a woman from behind by William Etty. He'd bought them as a pair, posted them in his room for both anatomical practices with his own artworks and because no one would ever question this particular little indiscretion on Damian's part. No one would look at the paintings by his door and think he used one of them to masturbate to nearly every night. It was the only image he'd ever allow himself despite knowing he could have owned an entire book of artworks from the 1800s without suspicion, could have used pages upon pages for his own gratification. The issue was, he was _trying_ to be in denial of his own truth.

Taking a deep breath, Damian resolved to do what he had to in order to find the one little spot that _had_ to exist in his sexuality where he could at least get it up long enough to do his duties at some point in the future. It'd be hours of uncomfortable research, but he'd damn well do it if it meant not failing. 

Damian Wayne _did not_ fail.


	3. Chapter 3

Damian tapped his fingers on the edge of his laptop. His foot shook vigorously and his teeth worried his lower lip incessantly. For the third time, he checked his door and then his window, ensuring both were locked. He tugged his curtain shut again and finally brought up his VPN program, connecting, and then pushing himself up away from the computer. Pacing the room, he did his best to convince himself to sit back down and just do what he'd come up here to do. 

He, Tim, and his father had the night off from patrol due to a gala that required their attendance. As such, they had their areas covered under their usual protocol and that gave Damian the entire evening to himself before they had to leave. He'd proclaimed a quiet evening drawing was in order and had left to go to his room without anyone questioning him. The truth was, what he needed to do was anything but painting.

Rubbing at his nose, he sighed and plodded back to his chair, settling in it and curling one bare foot up under himself. Wetting his lips, he steeled himself and opened up a browser within the session and clicked on the search box, hesitating before typing _various kinks list_. 

The first thing he found was a kink and terminology list, which seemed clinical enough. At the top, he noted **24/7** was an option and curious, he clicked on it, finding an explanation that it was a Dom/sub relationship that existed all day, every day, extending into the non-sexual. He blinked at it and clicked the back button. That was far too much commitment for him for something he didn’t want to do anyway. 

He skimmed over BDSM, Age play, Choking, Bondage, and hesitated over Collaring. For a moment, he envisioned a few images he'd inadvertently seen at crime scenes over the years, people's porn stashes out where he could see them. A simple break-in turned into a ten-man leering fest at the random magazines and DVDs littering someone's bedside table. He bit his lip again, gnawing at it until he winced and let it go, the foot dangling over the edge of the chair going back to shaking instead. Okay, the idea of having leather around his neck was... _enticing_ , though he doubted that was the key to his success given there was no sexual element to it, only some strange deep-seated desire to feel such a thing.

He didn't bother clicking on it and moved on down the list, instead tapping on **Edgeplay** to see what it meant. He started to read, seeing things like knife play, bloodplay, gunplay pop out at him and he squirmed inside in the most unpleasant of ways. Having any of that _aimed_ at him seemed like a recipe for disaster. He tended to react violently given his line of work and he certainly wasn't going to put anyone else in danger for trying any of that with him. Clicking back, he made a face at **Edging** wondering if it was the same thing and clicked only to feel his cheeks heat up at the explanation of bringing oneself or someone else to the edge of orgasm again and again. A link to **Denial** was right under it and he understood instantly what that meant. 

His cock started to plump in his briefs and he squirmed a little, opening a new tab and typing _woman edges man_ into the search field and pressing enter. He gave the screen a confused look when he got back some results on the wage gap and something about natural hair. He tried again. _Edging m/f_ and recoiled a bit at the huge array of gun videos. Desperate he typed _edging masturbation_ and hit enter, forcing his gaze to move on from the images of men stroking themselves, looking for one with two people in it. Giving up halfway down the first page of results, he instead tried _edging denial_ and came up with loads of women giving men blowjobs. He cringed, the start of his arousal quickly fading away and he sighed to himself. So much for _that_.

Closing the tab, he moved back to the list and began scrolling again. He moved on past the mention of a community with much prevalence for Kinksters and instead hesitated over **Flogging**. Clicking on it, he studied the images of the tools used for such a thing and stared at the words _common BDSM practice_. If it was common, he wouldn't have to explain himself too much to a future wife. If it worked, then well, _it worked_. Opening a new window, he typed _male flogging_ and scrolled through the videos, ignoring the ones with two men although the urge to click on one was unsettlingly extreme. Mostly he found women whipping men rather than flogging them, something that made him cringe with the knowledge that he'd lash out if given half a chance if a whip came anywhere near him. Finally, he found one with a flogger and a softer sort of tease with it and he managed to focus himself on the idea of it instead of the fact that it was a woman doing the flogging. Another little stirring fluttered in his belly and he filed that knowledge away as well.

He closed out that list and proceeded to the next one, skipping over all the already familiar terms, hesitating over **Pony/Pet Play** and feeling his cheeks heat up. Nope. No. Absolutely not. He was _not_ going to indulge in that sort of thought, action, or anything else, even if he had thought that guy back in high school who wore clip-on cat ears to school every day was kind of cute. Swallowing down the idea of fantasizing about that guy, he forced himself to move on, scrolling past medical play, watersports, mummification, suspension, and sounding. He got to **wax play** and curiosity got the better of him. 

Opening up another window, he typed in _wax play male_ and clicked on the first video, watching as a mostly off-screen Domme poured wax onto a masturbating guy. The guy looked like he was loving it and Damian found himself squirming a little in his seat, his cock starting to get hard. Okay, he could work with that. Closing it, he moved back to his list and kept going. Nothing else caught his eye so he opened the third link he'd found and studied it. It was a listing of kinks and situations you could rank on a printable list. 

He went down it, only pausing to mentally catalogue things that sounded interesting. **Religious play** sounded kind of messed up in a way but the idea of some guy in priests robes shoving him up against a wall really kind of did it for him, though he inherently understood this wasn't the route to go if he was trying to figure himself out for women only. Moving on, he continued skimming, making faces at times and just staring vacantly at the words for most of it until he got to a tick box with **Forced Heterosexuality** and stopped dead, his heart slamming in his chest. That was it. It _had_ to be. Like a damn golden ticket or something. 

Glancing at the door again, he swallowed and opened a new tab, looking back at his screen to type _forced heterosexuality_ into the browser window and immediately sucked in a breath. All of it looked to be directly the opposite, women forced to be with other women, men to be with men, and when he did finally scroll down enough to find one, he saw the word drugged and his stomach flip-flopped. This was not at all what he'd signed up for and he blanched, closing out of it quickly and reaching up to rub his eyes. No golden ticket. Fine. He could do this.

He went back to the ranking list and finally found a few kinks he could get behind without any need for deliberation. Dirty talk and chains were things he knew he'd be fine with and wouldn't make him feel like he needed to lash out and yet, still gave him the little shimmery feeling in his gut. 

The only thing he didn't understand off that list was e-stim, so he looked it up and decided fairly quickly that since it basically forced the issue, he could live with the results if that was how it was going to happen. Closing all of the lists, he pulled up a listing he'd been saving for a while for phone sex lines and made his decision. He'd use his burner to make the call, use the credit card attached to his fake name he was pretty certain even _Bruce_ didn't know about, to see if he could at least get off to a woman's voice if he staunchly ignored that she wasn’t a guy. Maybe he could just pretend his whole way through this.

Dialing the best rated number, he waited patiently for the options list to play through as he fished the credit card out of its hidden slot in his desk and waited it out. After selecting a few things, he entered his credit card number and settled back in his chair, fingers idly opening his pants as he waited on someone to be assigned to him. After a few moments a woman's voice came across the line, low and sultry. 

"Hey, honey, it's good to hear from you."

He rolled his eyes at the play like he was calling his girlfriend or something, but he held in a sigh, deciding it was best like this. Maybe he could do this with whomever he ended up with to give her something to help her get off at least. If he could endure it, then maybe it would be nicer to her in the end.

"Yeah... been busy," he offered, wincing at the slight panicky edge to his voice. 

"Mmm... too busy for _me_ I guess." A sigh filtered over the line, "want you so bad and you're never home anymore."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he willed himself to just be the actor he knew he could be and take on the character of a perfectly straight dude who had it up pretty hard for his girl. He imagined Dick whining about Kori when they'd been together, how he had wanted to get back to her all the time. He pictured the star-struck eyes Tim tended to give Stephanie when she was in the room and he imagined his character feeling that way about this woman on the other end of the phone. 

"You know how it is, work keeps me late. I don't have a choice, you know that. If I did, I'd be home with you right now, not stuck here."

She made a pitiful little sound and then a little gasp. "I have an idea!"

He resisted rolling his eyes this time and instead offered, "Oh?"

"Well... since you miss me so much... why don't ya make it up to me?"

He barely resisted the urge to snort, biting his tongue for a moment before releasing it. "Flowers? Chocolates? Diamonds? They all seem so trite when it's the twentieth time I've had to do it."

"Hmm... I had something else in mind, actually," she whispered. "Is your door closed?"

He glanced at it for good measure, moving his hand to rest over his still-flaccid cock. "Of course it is."

"Your naughty little secretary isn't in there with you?"

He imagined for an instant his naughty little _male_ secretary bent over his desk as his character gave it to him hard and this time his eyes rolled back in his head for a completely different reason. Steadying himself, he managed a perfectly reasonable voice. "You know I'm not doing anything with them." He left it vague, open, hoped they caught it and didn't say _she_ if they brought the secretary up again. "Except maybe making them do too much paperwork and stay 'til ungodly hours of the night."

She laughed and Damian pulled his head from his male secretary fantasies, starting to drum his fingers on his bulge, hoping this would hurry up. If nothing else, they sure were getting their money's worth out of it. 

"You're so hard on your workers, baby. Hard on yourself, too." She let out a dreamy little sigh.

Clearing his throat, he offered, "What did you want for me to do to make it up to you?"

"Oh!" She let out a tittering laugh that Damian almost could have bought as being real if he didn't know better. "Well, see... I've been looking at our videos and I thought... maybe we could... ya know. On the phone."

The cutesy part of it annoyed him and he wished she'd just have bluntly said have phone sex instead of dancing around it. After all, he'd asked for dirty talk in his options. Though, he supposed the definition was pretty loose given anything said on a phone sex line was probably dirty in some technicality or other. He drew in a breath and went for it. "Tell me what you want me to do."

He heard her swallow and then, almost whispered, "Open your pants."

"Already did that the moment you implied this." He forced out, " _Babe_ ," at the end of it, wincing at how off-kilter that sounded.

She made a thrilled little sound. "Are you hard yet?"

He debated lying and the merits of being truthful versus not. Finally, "Give me a minute and I will be."

She let out a little purr and Damian forced himself to take his cock out, closing his eyes and allowing himself the friction of his hand, the idea of jerking off in Wayne Tower – something he'd never done, nor ever thought of doing – and found his cock straining in his hand within seconds. He bit back a private little grin and let out a little pleasant sigh. At least he knew one thing he might like doing at some point in the future. "I'm hard."

"God, baby... I wish you were here. I'd watch you jack off for me. Let you do anything you wanted with me." He heard her breathless gasp and knew it was meant to imply she was masturbating, too. He found that didn't bother him as much as he would have thought since he didn't have to see it and his little fantasy had nothing to do with her.

"Anything?"

" _Anything_. Tell me what you'd want to do to me."

Moving his hand from his cock, he debated it before he murmured, "I'd give you my cock." He kept it vague, unspecific, a million scenarios flitting through his mind. Everything from her ridding him while he was blindfolded and she was gagged to him being chained up on the bed and her fucking him filtered through his mind until he knew he was making a face and felt his arousal sliding away from him. It was useless, the instant he tried to think about a woman, he lost interest and couldn't finish. He sighed heavily and he heard the line crackle a little. 

"You finish, baby?"

He pursed his lips, in no way wanting to admit to a random woman on the phone that he'd lost interest and given up. Instead, he forced this persona to smile and offer an equally fake laugh to hers earlier. "Too riled up, I guess."

"It's okay, you can fuck me when you get home. Won't that be amazing?"

He pulled a face but instead offered a somewhat distant, "Yeah, yeah it would be."

"You're busy, I know... already losing your attention, aren't I?"

"Work calls, you know how it is."

She laughed quietly, "As long as your secretary isn't what's calling, baby. Don't play me like a 50s girl, alright?"

He snorted and shook his head. "I'd never. Good night." He didn't wait on her reply, ending the call and turning the phone off, pulling the SIM card and snapping it before tossing it in the trash and stashing both the card and the phone in his desk. 

Tucking himself away, he exited his browsers and session and moved to the window as he fastened up his pants. Pushing the curtain open, he leaned against the frame and stared out into the garden, his thoughts anywhere but where he was, his mind whispering how if that was a failure then what the hell else could he manage? What was left? A lonely life of half-assed tries and a pissed off wife? If nothing else, maybe he could get her to cheat on him and raise someone else's kid as their heir, although he didn't much like the idea of that. At the rate he was going, it was probably the only option. Even adopting a kid seemed a vague, distant potentiality if he couldn't even make his wife happy in bed.

Anger in his veins, he turned and stalked out of his room, heading down to the cave to work out his frustrations on the training dummies. They wouldn't care how lethal his blows would be.


	4. Chapter 4

Damian stood in the elegant lobby of Club Blüd, his pulse pounding and his nerves entirely more on edge than he could ever recall them being. It was honestly his only chance though. If he failed _this_ , then he would fail every other thing in his life to do with his sexuality and his capacity to provide an heir. He wet his lips and steeled himself. It was this or give up and Waynes _did not_ give up.

He quietly took a tablet from the stack at the desk and settled on one of the couches. As the club asked for a nickname to try to keep their records anonymous, he signed in simply as _D_. He'd come here on purpose. They were the only sex club in Gotham or Blüdhaven that didn't accept cards, worked off cash only, and required their guests to remain anonymous in all public areas. He'd shown up in a hoodie and kept the hood pulled up, his face in shadow, his overly tight black pants hugging his hips in a way his usual clothing never did. 

He shifted, the leather of his pants creaking against the plastic chair as he read through the consent contract, finally signing with a _D_ , the date, and typing in his chosen safe word to end whatever scene he ended up in. 

_Adrenaline_. 

The next page opened up to a kink list that didn't look all that unfamiliar to the ones he'd read through the prior night. Without hesitation, he marked off flogging, wax play, chains, praise, and e-stim, though he marked the _only if necessary_ box beside e-stim. He put in a few hard-nos on his list as well, things he'd end scene with immediately if they were inserted, most of them things he knew would coax him into lashing out. In the special request box, he typed in _please only be specific in speaking about my genitals, no mention of female genitalia nor contact with until highly aroused and then only touch, not speaking of it_. 

Some part of him understood he was giving himself away with the request, but he had to give it a good try and he couldn't if she started off talking about what she wanted him to do to her. That was hardly the point of all of this. He needed to stay aroused, possibly get off, and be able to _at least_ touch her at some point without having a damn fit in his mind and pants. 

The next page held costume options and he ticked the boxes for a lower face mask, collar, and harness. He verified the two hour time slot he'd promised to pay for and was given his total. He pulled out the cash and took the tablet and money to the front desk. The girl didn't look up, only took the tablet and checked him in, sliding a five back across the counter as his change and he pocketed it, standing silently as she transferred his data to the main system and then pointed him toward a door behind her. "Down that hall, room fifteen to change out. There are lock boxes if you'd like or you can take your items with you into the room and leave them on the shelf by the far wall. Phones set to silent, not vibrate and they are not allowed on your person in any circumstance. No recording devices and any mistreatment of the girls and we will have you forcibly extracted. Once you are done in the changing room the plaque on the back of the door will indicate what room you're to go to for play."

Damian gave her a curt nod, skirting around the desk and slipping down the hallway she'd indicated and into room fifteen, which turned out to be a small changing room with a plush chair and vanity. Laid out on the counter were the items he'd requested. Checking them over, he took a deep breath and removed his socks, shoes, and hoodie. Peeling off the black tank top under it, he placed all of it on the vanity and focused on slipping on the four-point harness and tightening it. He added the collar and surprised himself at the little jolt of pleasure that slid along his veins as he buckled it and adjusted it so the ring was in the front.

His heart pounded in his chest as he fitted the mask over his face and stared at himself in the mirror. Half of their superhero identities were supposedly concealed by masks that Damian had privately always thought did little to actually hide you from someone who knew you. This, on the other hand, required intimate knowledge of someone's hair and eyes, his entire nose, lips, and jawline hidden away behind the buttery leather. He let his fingertips trace over it, pausing at the big rings in the sides, covered only by mesh to give him more breathing room. He reached down and untied the laces on his leather pants, parting the material enough to show where his faint little treasure trail started and give a glimpse into the hair below, his cock still safely hidden away. 

Removing the rest of his cash and phone, he took them with him and turned to face the door, reading the plaque as it told him his Domme was waiting on him in Haven Seven. Taking a deep breath, he settled himself, steeled his nerves, and opened the door. He could do this just like he'd done every other thing in his life.

*

Stepping into Haven Seven, Damian placed his phone and cash on the shelf beside the door and gave himself leave to look around the room for a moment. The walls were all painted black, the ceiling a dark grey, and the floor mostly black and white tiling, a few sparse rugs around the room. A single chair sat in the center of the room, wooden with an ornate backing, a deep cherry in color and he couldn't help but admire it for a moment. Perhaps a longer moment than he should have given a chair considering he was outright ignoring the person in the room with him.

Finally lifting his eyes to her, he watched as she pressed a button and the door gave a hiss and slid closed behind Damian. Objectively, Damian could see she was an attractive woman, a bit on the taller side of average, long black hair swept up into a high ponytail. He couldn't see her face – something he found he was relieved by – as it was hidden behind an ornately crafted mask, vaguely reminiscent of an owl in nature.

She gestured toward the chair and Damian moved to it, taking note of the hooks in the floor, the chains coiled under the legs of the seat. He settled on it and took a moment to assess her outfit, trying to decide if it bothered him or not. Thigh high shiny black boots with heels that made her even taller than she naturally was, the barest hint of her skin and then black booty shorts. Chains crisscrossed her mostly bare breasts, disappearing into the tight fit of the high-collared glossy trench coat that covered the rest. Her fingers were bare but her nails were long sharp points painted plum purple in an otherwise colorless outfit. 

Deciding it didn't truly bother him, he settled as comfortably as possible and waited silently. 

She circled him, nails lightly tracing over his shoulders and across his chest until she hooked one finger in the ring on his collar and slowly drew him toward her only to shove him back. He let her do it, still utterly silent, only waiting on whatever was to come. 

"Such an obedient _pet_."

Damian swallowed down any words he may have had, just watching her until she disappeared behind him and he heard the heavy drag of the chains across the tiles. The first one fell across his lap, heavier than he'd expected, but he didn't flinch, just staring straight ahead as she repeated the process again and again, pooling them in his lap before starting to drag them up over his body, looping some through the ring on his harness and the smaller one on his collar. He heard the locks click into place behind him and found he was a little disappointed that he could have gotten out of them should he have chosen to.

Her nails slid over his skin, this time from the base of his spine upward, skipping over the chains where they crossed his back and over the places where the chair was in the way. Both of her hands pushed into his hair and she scratched lightly at his scalp until his breath hitched and he shivered, eyelids falling closed as he let himself get lost in the sensation of it.

"Good boys get anything their hearts desire." She leaned in closer and he caught the faint scent of incense on her. "We shall see if you're a good boy or a bad one."

Her nails left his scalp, one hand coming to cup his chin, the mask pressing tighter at the action and tipped his head back. He kept his eyes closed, allowing his other senses to work overtime. She squeezed to the edge of pain and then let him go, stepping away and leaving him feeling barren. _Cold_. Her heels clicked on the floor, away from him briefly and then back. He could hear the metallic grate of a lighter flaring to life and he knew what was coming. A small smile on his lips, he tipped his head all the way back and waited.

The first drop of wax hit his collarbone and he actually jumped, gasping at the stinging sizzle of pain that shot through him as if someone had stabbed a needle deep into his flesh. His eyelids flew open and he stared at the ceiling, his heart racing, adrenaline pumping through him. She flicked it at him and a long stripe of wax splattered across his chest, just in between the chains, and he held back his gasp, sucking in air through his teeth at a controlled rate instead. The pain sliced through him just as before, no less potent for being the second time.

The process repeated itself across his arms and torso until she knelt in front of him, fingers hooking in the laces of his pants and tugging until he knew his flaccid length was on display. Her hand dipped in, cradling his length and Damian had to stop himself from trying to squirm away from her, squeezing his eyes shut and telling himself he could do this. His mind conjured up people he'd been attracted to, imagined them in her position, holding his cock, but the overwhelming knowledge that it wasn't them hedged in on him until his brow creased. Still, he said nothing, waiting her out, seeing why this was happening, and then he was jerking against the chains, struggling not to scream in frantic horrible pain as searing heat slashed along his cock, his nerves lighting up there the way they had on every other part of his body only a thousand times more intense.

This time the reaction was involuntary, beyond his control, his cock starting to harden as blood rushed toward it , desperate to help with the flare of agony. He felt himself twitch and then her cool breath whispering across his skin, cooling the wax until it was hardened enough for her to peel it off of him, a new sensation zinging along his nerves. He shivered and tipped his head back again, letting himself tremble as it was stripped away. Once it was gone, he sighed and eased himself back properly into his seat. He was still half-hard and that was an accomplishment, he supposed. 

"Look at you... so responsive to what I'm doing to you." One hand ghosted up his thigh, causing the muscles to spasm under her touch. His breath hitched and he frowned behind the mask as he started to lose his erection at the mere sound of her voice. That just _wasn't_ fair. He let his head fall forward, defeat hedging in on him heavily. There was no way a future wife would ever just stop talking to him through an entire scene. 

He felt heavy all over, the world dizzy around him as reality tried to crash in on him. He thought about calling scene for a moment, about giving up and resolving himself to maybe telling his future wife his cock just didn't work and perhaps living his life completely celibate, but he couldn't bring himself to give up like that. Damian Wayne didn't just _walk away_ without a damn fight. He'd do this or he'd ruin himself trying.

He lifted his head and kept his eyes closed, gritting his teeth as she stood up, gasping as the wax hit his cock again. It hit and striped across him, making him shudder, his hips jerking. This was the response he'd wanted, he knew that, but somewhere in the back of his mind he told himself getting hard off something like this didn't really put him in a position to give it to his wife and hope for a child out of it. He was pretty sure wax didn't belong in _there_.

Just like that, his arousal drowned itself again and he wanted to scream in frustration, destroy everything in his path in his rage. Swallowing thickly, he allowed himself to look as dejected as he felt as she gently peeled away the wax from his cock again.

She moved away and then back behind him, an action he only understood once the soft leather falls of a flogger brushed gently over his shoulders and down one arm, coming to rest on his thigh. She lightly danced the strips of leather over his cock, providing a pleasant enough sensation, pulling him back into the proper head space, allowing him to just _feel_. 

It didn’t matter this time if he could get off while thinking about her being a girl, it only mattered if he could manage to get off. He'd work up to the rest of it, train himself just like everything else he'd ever accomplished. He hadn't woken up one morning the best fighter in the world; he'd trained day and night to get to that point. He'd come back over and over if he had to.

The flogger snapped against his skin and he found he'd expected it to hurt a lot more than it truly did. The video clips and the sound of it had left him thinking it would be sharp stinging threads of pain wherever it touched down, but it wasn't. Rather, it was something he could only assume would result in a blunt sort of trauma after repeated blows in the same area.

Regardless, the sound of it again and again left him jolting slightly each time, expecting pain where there was none, and he wondered to himself if maybe this was just a result of all the abuse his body had taken over the years. Maybe it _did_ sting to others, maybe their pain was genuine and he was simply numb to it. Whatever it was, he found himself lulled by the repetition, by the soft caress of the falls and then the solid _whap_ of them snapping against his skin, the tease and then the execution. 

It was that alone that left him actually crying out when the zinging pain of the wax returned as it was cast over him in the midst of it. His head tipped back and panted for breath as it came again and again, the sharp slashing pain waking something inside him until he was actively arching from the seat, his cock stiffening again until he was fully hard and straining from between the laces of his pants. 

Wax dripped down over the tip of his cock and he actually _screamed_ , his balls drawing up tight. It would be embarrassingly fast if it weren't for the fact that he'd never been touched by another until now, would have been something to get angry over except... this was the entire point. 

The faint touch of a memory told him he needed to ask to cum, one too many porn videos implying such a thing, and he managed to grit out, "Need to... _please_."

Her breath whispered against his ear. "Good pets can cum and you've been a _very_ good pet today. You may."

The war began inside him, the edge of his orgasm right there but her voice reminding him of why he was here, what he was doing, of all his failures. He let out a choked out sound he hadn't planned on releasing and felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyelids, still hidden for now but right at the cusp. He shuddered hard, hips jerking, desperation setting in. He _couldn't_ fail. Wouldn't allow himself to.

His hands curled into fists and he let out a frustrated sound, feeling his arousal starting to slip away from him no matter how much he tried to grapple with it. 

More pain jolted through his cock and then the surrounding area and he felt the flame close to his skin. He strained and trembled, arching as hard as he could in the chains, feeling them dig in, feeling his collar pull tight around his neck until he could barely breathe, until his head was swimming and he was shaking hard enough he could hear the looser chains rattle. Another flash of pain and then it was happening, his vision whiting out, his breath gasping in and sticking forcefully in his throat, and his cock actually twitching with the force of every spurt of cum leaving him. He cried out in a way he'd never allowed himself to within the manor's walls, sobbed through it until he was sagging and shaking in an entirely different way, until he couldn’t decide why his cheeks were wet or why he was suddenly so _upset_ that he'd cum.

Her voice came to him somewhat distantly, whispering, "Adrenaline," as she knelt in front of him and began to run her fingertips over his thighs and arms. She gave him one hand and let him grip it to give him grounding and he found himself thankful that _this_ was a thing, whatever it was. 

It took a little bit for him to come back down to the sensation of her fingers gently peeling off the wax from his skin. He lingered there on the edge of the strange place within his mind that felt like a gaping pit to his front and a solid wall at his back, allowing it to exist until he felt it melting away with her constant touch.

A soft cloth cleaned up his cum and then her hand was cradling his cock again, the other peeling up the wax from the overly sensitized skin. He flinched back from the touch without really meaning to and then winced at the implication of it, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter for a few seconds before giving in and opening them, finding her gaze on him. 

"You're upset. Why?"

Damian shifted uncomfortably in his seat, very aware of the chains still around him, aware that she had cut the scene and not him, and that he wasn't sure if it meant anything, he was nearly certain it did. He debated lying but finally just offered the truth. 

"I failed."

She cocked her head at him and he watched her brilliant green eyes blink behind the mask. "How so? You did not act out and you only came after asking permission. As far as that goes, you were more well-behaved than most would ever have the control to be."

Damian looked away from her eyes and just shook his head a little, pursing his lips, knowing the expression would read even through the mask. 

"You're disappointed in yourself, but I fail to see the why of it. Tell me." The last part was a bit more commanding and he bristled for a second before forcing himself to sink back into his previous head space. It wasn't like he hadn't given himself away repeatedly already.

"I had to close my eyes."

"Why?"

He had to forcibly shrug off the biting response that wanted out, instead rolling his shoulders. "To avoid seeing you." He winced at how rude that sounded. "I did not mean that how it came out."

She hummed and he heard her stand up, felt her nails on him again as she started to walk around him. "Do not think me stupid, I saw how you reacted when you saw me each time. Do I remind you of someone?"

He shook his head, sagging a little and just letting her suss this out for them both.

"Not the right look for you?"

He tipped his head side-to-side and sighed.

"I see." She knelt in front of him again, her hands on his knees, squeezing lightly. "Not the right gender, then."

This time he forced himself to give a single nod, his eyelids falling closed, dejection sliding through him, his chest feeling tight and heavy with the revelation being out in the world like this.

"Why are you forcing yourself to be here with a woman then? We have men on staff of all varieties. You can even make special requests for the type of look you're going for if that’s the issue."

Tipping his head back, he shook it a little and forced himself to speak. "There are reasons I am unwilling to discuss, but I _must_ find a way to be attracted to women, even if only for an hour or so at a time."

"Hunny... you can't force yourself to be attracted to someone. That's not how sexuality works."

"I can train it into myself."

"You most certainly cannot."

"Then I force the issue, whatever. As long as my body will respond the rest is irrelevant."

He sensed her frustration in the fact that she stopped talking for a moment and had to take a few deep breaths. "Look... I don't know what your situation is, but let me tell you this as bluntly as I can. It's _okay_ to be attracted to whoever you're attracted to and anyone who has ever made you feel differently isn't worth their damn salt. Whatever it is that you think you need to be into women for when you're clearly not isn't worth what you're putting yourself through. Accept your truth and the world will either follow or it won't. Leave the parts that won't in the dirt behind you."

She stood up when he didn't reply right away and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll put us back in scene if I have to. Tell me the truth. Does anyone know besides us?"

He shook his head, just a single quick shake, his teeth gritting hard enough he could hear them squeaking against one another. 

"Who can you trust enough to tell? Just one person."

Damian closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and thinking it through. He quickly discarded thoughts of his brothers, of some of his friends, of his father – that one stung so bad he wanted to scream – and instead focused on a logical answer. 

She worked on the chains as he thought through his options, freeing them one by one until they were all coiled on the floor around his feet.

The most logical person was the one who had probably heard the whole thing anyway, who probably knew by proxy of having _super_ hearing. He finally offered a soft, "Clark."

She squeezed his shoulder and then her heels were clacking across the floor. When she came back she was holding his phone, held it out to him. "Call him. Ask him to pick you up and then you will speak with him after you are away from here, tell him the truth, all the things you won't tell me. Every fear, every secret about your sexuality, and see what he has to say. Always remember your friends are your greatest asset."

Damian reached for the phone and unlocked it, scrolling through his contacts until he got to Clark, instead shooting off a text. 

_At Club Blüd, come get me please. We need to discuss something privately. I'll be outside in around fifteen._

He glanced up at her and saw her watching. "That wasn't a call."

"He's not much for the phone, he tolerates the text, sue me."

She tutted at him. "Lucky we're out of scene with that mouth." She lightly rubbed her hand through his hair. "Do you need anything else from me before we're done?"

"No."

"Feel free to keep the items you have on if you'd like; if not, drop them in the box to the left of the vanity for sanitation."

Damian watched her hit the button and leave the room after the door slid open, then pulled himself up and followed after her. He hesitated next to his money and then made the decision to leave it where it was, moving down the hall to his room and started to dress again, checking himself for anything foreign. He dropped the harness and mask into the bin, but tucked the collar into his hoodie's pocket, pulling the hood back up and leaving the room.

If there was one thing he could say about today, it was that he'd never expected _this_ to be the outcome. Not in a million years.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song[s]: "I Feel Like I'm Drowning" by Two Feet

Damian exited the building, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets and managed to walk about twenty steps before he sensed Clark's presence behind him. He paused, letting himself get used to the idea that he was going to have to let Clark into his life in a way he'd never anticipated. Curling in on himself even more, he offered quietly, "I took the bus," telling Clark he had no way out without him.

Clark's presence was suddenly more solid behind him, his hand sliding along Damian's back, and then he was quickly tugged into the nearest alleyway and crushed against Clark's solid chest. Protective arms held him close and Damian's breath caught as they were flying, his hands gripping Clark's strong arms, one thigh pressed between Clark's own to give him the sensation of being safe despite knowing he could fall and Clark would catch up before he hit the ground as Clark had a million rescues under his belt.

Once solid ground became a thing again, Damian peeled himself away from Clark, forcing himself to provide distance for what he had to tell him. His heart wrenched painfully in his chest and he had to turn away to hide the grimace on his face. He shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them into fists, gave himself a few moments to try to collect himself before he settled into his more clinical self, the part of him that reported horrible atrocities to Batman without flinching. 

"I assume you heard most of that?"

"I have honed the art of ignoring things I don't think others want me to be a part of. I evaluated where you were and chose not listen in on your private session."

Something tightened inside him at the idea that Clark _hadn't_ been listening to him, that he probably still had no idea about Damian's preferences. Chewing his lower lip, he debated if he could still do this, if it made it easier or worse that Clark hadn't heard him desperately trying to be with a woman. 

Making his decision, he moved across the sandy beach he'd been brought to, wondered where in the world they were. Crouching at the edge of the most placid water he'd ever encountered, he stared out across it as he spoke. "I've known my obligations since I was a mere child. My mother only had me to be the one who would conquer the world. My grandfather allowed it thinking I would be his next body, the vessel he'd use to take more than he ever has from this world. My father... he never wanted me, but he's accepted that I'm here with more grace than most would in his position. Be that as it may, he needs an heir to the Wayne fortune. I have never deluded myself into thinking I can ever truly walk away from all of it. I have to be one of these things and I chose the one with the most autonomy. I am to be the heir for my father and an heir has a _job_. Only two that really matter. Don't squander the fortune and produce another heir."

Damian pushed himself back to his feet, kept his back to Clark as he gazed unseeingly across the water before him. "One of those is no issue at all. I would never squander what is of use. I know how to budget and how to get around every law in existence if it came to that. I know when to push and when to walk away in finance, what is lucrative and what is not. The issue... is that I do not believe myself capable of producing an heir. Not because I am not _equipped_ to do so, but because the mere thought of being with a woman erodes any desire I have into dust. My preferences lie elsewhere and that will become... troublesome."

Closing his eyes, he listened to Clark approaching him across the beach.

"I am attempting to train myself into what is necessary. That's what the visit to Club Blüd was all about. I simply need to find what I can accomplish in the presence of a woman and then work from there until I can grit my teeth through _union_ and hope for my future wife to be with child as quickly as possible." He heard Clark inhale to speak and he held up his hand, shaking his head. "Do not think me callous. I would treat her right, give her everything she could ever want, I would even learn to love her in some manner, to develop feelings that had nothing to do with my sexuality so that she would only think there was, perhaps, something wrong with me on a sexual level and nothing further. She would never suspect she married a gay man, only that, perhaps, I needed a pill to help me in the bedroom. I would never cheat on her and I would never indulge in watching any videos or anything else of the things I want. My thoughts will be my only concession if only because stopping them entirely seems an impossible task. I have already been training myself for years not to want to see these videos or to think of anything but the sensations I am providing when alone. I believe with enough practice I could even prevent myself from doing anything alone so she would not feel slighted. I will _learn_ to deal with pleasuring a woman in other ways so as to provide her with what she needs, no matter how it makes me feel." He sighed, crouching down again and staring at the sand, one hand reaching to start pushing his fingers through the soft grains of pure white. "I would never be so cruel as to slight her."

Clark couched beside him, one hand coming to rest between Damian's shoulder blades. "Are you arranged to be married?"

Damian made a face. He knew of the custom, had grown up in a place where it was rather common, but had never been promised due to his grandfather's inherent desires for his vessel once he was older. "No."

"Then why are you forcing yourself to be into a woman? You can marry a man and adopt a child just as easily in the country you presently live in. Gotham even allows gay marriage as of a few months ago." Clark's voice was gentle, questioning but not judgmental.

His points gave Damian pause and he let his brain catch up to make the proper arguments. "I cannot be a disappointment to my family. Not one of them would know how to deal with this revelation. Father would be devastated that another of his sons came out like this. Grayson doesn't know how to speak of anything but women and girlfriends. Jason doesn't speak of this sort of thing at all and Drake has never been more _rude_ than he was when I attempted to breach this subject years ago. Alfred... would perhaps be okay with it if only because he cannot speak out actively against it. My mother would have a _fit_. I can hear her telling me how the tank must have screwed something up inside me, that she's devastated and will _fix it_."

Clark's hand lightly rubbed between Damian's shoulders. "I think you're too hard on yourself. Dick would never actively seek to hurt you. Even if he didn't understand, he'd make sure he did eventually. Tim... I believe would understand more than you think he would, perhaps you were not at a good point in your lives to discuss much of anything between you, but if you needed him and were up front about it, I believe he'd be at your side in an instant. Your father, I can't predict, but I do think he's softer than most of us give him credit for when it comes to things like this." Clark reached to rest his hand on the nape of Damian's neck, squeezing lightly.

"Tell me, how do you think your friends would react?"

Thoughts of Jon, Colin, and even Maya flitted through his mind. Colin would probably just laugh and punch him in the shoulder. He couldn't imagine Maya doing more than shrugging at him, and Jon – his heart slammed in his chest, his eyelids falling closed. Jon _knew_ , there was no way he didn't. He'd have heard this conversation and he'd have heard Damian at the club. He didn't have an _off_ switch the way Clark clearly did. Fear lanced through him that he'd gone and lost himself his closest friend but the harsh pinch of Clark's hand brought him crashing back down, forced him to breathe again.

"Jon," he managed, his voice a mere whisper.

"Hasn't heard any of this. I took you far enough away he cannot hear us. He may have overheard what was happening at the club, but not this."

Damian nodded, reaching one hand up and shoving it harshly over his face.

"Do you not think he would accept you?"

"I..." Damian sighed, dropping his hand back between his thighs and allowing himself the stress of his emotions. "I hope he might." His voice sounded rough, strained even to his own ears. 

"My son has never been anything but accepting of the people he meets. Deliberate this: you live in a world where you can hear all of the good, all of the bad. You can hear every statement that hurts someone, the fallout of actions and inaction. You see and hear this pain every single day. The result is only one thing, Damian. _Compassion_. He has never done anything but protect the people hurt by others ignorance and bigotry. Jon would _never_ abandon you for who you desire."

Damian swallowed hard, smoothed his hand through the sand again and then stood, Clark allowing him the action, following him into standing, but still not letting go.

"Then I should speak to him as well."

"I agree." Clark's hand smoothed down Damian's back, rested in the center of it. "You always have a safe space and if everything falls out at home – not that I believe it will – you have a home at our place if you need it. Understood?"

Finally, Damian turned to look up at Clark, to let him see the pain in his features, to see the turmoil and the anguish of having lied for so long, and when Clark enfolded him in his arms, he clung to him without question. Their feet left the ground and Damian allowed himself this weakness, these moments of fragility that he hadn't in so long. And if Clark's shirt was a little damp when they arrived at their apartment's balcony, then it wasn't Damian's fault.

Stepping away, he looked up to find Jon leaning against the glass door, concern written across his features. Clark slipped away, leaving the pair of them on the balcony.

Jon nodded toward the wicker seat beside him and then toward inside. "My room or here?"

Out here felt vulnerable, _open_ , but the bedroom felt intimate, like he shouldn't be admitting something like this in an enclosed room with his best friend. Anxiousness warred within him for a few moments before Jon made the decision for him, turning to open the sliding door and just heading down the hall without a word.

Damian steeled himself and followed, closing the door behind himself and skirting past Krypto where he was napping on the floor, stepping into Jon's room and watching as Jon closed the door behind him.

Jon curled up on his bed and Damian started to take a seat on the floor, but Jon tapped the bed with his hand. "Up here." Damian gave him a confused look, but Jon just stared him down until he crawled on the bed beside him and huddled against the wall, hunching in on himself as much as he could.

"I'm going to help you out here. I overheard you in the club. I was trying to ignore it but when you, ah," a flush came up in his cheeks, "shouted, I couldn’t prevent myself from listening. I already know what you're here to say and I think I get it. It's difficult in a society that defaults to thinking one thing about all people." He paused for a moment, looking a bit tense and then sighing. "Fine, I'm going to admit this. There was a while when I couldn’t stop listening to _everything_. My ears wouldn't stop and I couldn't even sleep, I just sort of passed out from exhaustion after a while. It's difficult, hearing everything all day. So I finally started honing in on the people I knew instead, trying to fade the rest into background noise. It makes it easier to exist like this. At first, it was Mom and Dad and then it was you and some of the kids from school and a few other people. So... I _know_ , Damian. I've heard every single moment of your discomfort over the past few years, the way your pulse spikes at certain things and doesn't at all at others. The strain in your voice when you tried to joke around like Grayson does and how awkward that was for you. I know you need to say this, need to just get it out there with someone and I want you to, but I also want you to know in advance that I'm already in the loop."

Damian eased against the wall, shifted until he was more comfortable and then gave Jon a weak little smile, taking in a steadying breath and forcing himself to just say it. 

"Women do not sexually interest me."

Jon nodded, leaning forward so his arms were braced on his knees, eyes sparkling. "What does?"

"Men." The word came out surprisingly easy given how much trepidation had been surrounding it all this time. "I like men."

Jon smiled and it was a brilliant and divine sort of thing. "And that's great." He reached out and shoved lightly at Damian's knee. "I kinda do... like it's real specific, but there's a few guys that... _yeah_." He let out a laugh and then flopped back on his bed, sprawling out. "Oh man, did you see the last issue of The Daily Planet? That guy on page one who won that achievement metal? Hot _damn_."

Damian's heart fluttered a little and he shifted, unsure how to do this kind of thing. He wanted to, God did he _ever_ , but saying things felt so foreign. Finally, he offered, "I didn't," his voice so quiet he was pretty sure Jon wouldn't have heard him if it weren't for the super hearing.

Jon leaned over the side of his bed and rustled around in the stack of random magazines, books, and papers there until he came up with a section of newspaper and tossed it toward Damian. 

"There."

Damian lifted the paper and turned it over to see the image of a fairly attractive thirty something guy proudly accepting an award metal. He wasn't conventionally attractive, but Damian could see what Jon was seeing in him. Wetting his lips, he gave it a fair attempt. 

"He's.... nice."

The faint laughter from his side made Damian arch an eyebrow without thinking on it too hard, his eyes lifting to study Jon over the paper. "What?"

"Alright, dish. Who _is_ Damian Wayne's type then?"

Damian's thoughts drifted back to the guy they'd gone to high school with who wore the cat ears every day, then to the onset of puberty and the way his breath had caught around Grayson all the time for months, and then how he'd only narrowly avoided responding completely incorrectly toward Jon several times, particularly the first time Jon had changed in front of him. He felt his cheeks heat and he coughed into his fist, tossing the paper aside and folding his arms across his chest. 

"What _exactly_ is the point of this?"

"The point is, you're a stoved up little teapot and we need to let some steam off. C'mon, boys do this about women all the time, just let it happen. Talk about the dudes you're into."

"Fine." He glowered at Jon for a moment and then spit out, "Trace, from high school. He was... attractive."

Jon's face squished up while he tried to remember and then he was beaming. "I remember him!" He held his hands up and made little triangles against his head. "Cat ear guy?"

Damian shrugged, trying to look impassive.

"Don't shrug at me. What did you like about him?"

Damian's eyes rolled so hard it almost hurt. "His cheekbones were nice and the confidence in how he carried himself and didn't give a fuck what others thought of his fashion choices. He had a very nice way of speaking as well."

"Alright... who else?"

Damian shifted uncomfortably and Jon nudged him with his foot, jostling him around.

"Spill."

"I swear to God, if you ever tell him, I will hunt you down and –"

"Murder me? You can have a fair go at trying, but it will be incredibly unnecessary. I'm not in the business of hearing and tattling or you'd know about a thousand juicy secrets."

Damian snorted, settling back against the wall again and doing his best to look dignified. "Grayson is very attractive."

Jon's eyes lit up. "I agree. What is it that does it for ya?"

"Do not _ever_ use that phrase again in regards to him." He gave Jon what he considered his best glower, though Jon remained unaffected. "You might say he has some great _ass _ets."__

__Jon busted out laughing and if Damian wasn't sadly mistaken he thought he heard a half bark of laughter from the living room as well. He let a little smile flirt with his lips and chose to stare at the ceiling. "I've also seen him very much in the nude and the scars do nothing to subtract from his attractiveness."_ _

__"Does he have a big cock?"_ _

__Damian choked a little, flushing brightly. "I've never!" He managed to sound completely scandalized and Jon started laughing. "Mmhmm... and I don't fly. I _know_ you look, even if you force it to be really quick." Jon's voice dipped a bit at that and unbidden the image of Jon's naked body came back to him from their little sleepover and how he'd been unable to avoid looking completely. To this day he still remembered every detail of Jon's body, all the way down to _his_ cock._ _

__He swallowed and then shrugged. "I've seen bigger."_ _

__Jon actually rolled on the bed at that, finally rolling over to rest his chin on Damian's knee, staring up at him and grinning. "Who?"_ _

__The fact that it was _Jon_ left Damian's skin burning and his cock trying to respond to this conversation and where Jon was and he did the only thing he thought would get Jon off his back about all of this instantly. "I'm attracted to you too, you know. You might want to," he gestured away from himself, expecting Jon to retreat half-horrified._ _

__Instead Jon stared calmly up at him, a small smile curving his lips. "You think I don't know that? I can _hear_ your reactions to me." Jon shifted to press his cheek to Damian's knee instead. "Maybe I don't think you're so bad yourself."_ _

__The moment dragged out until Damian was nearly desperate to make it stop, uncertainty on how to proceed filling him. Jon finally broke it, grinning up at him. "It was mine, wasn't it? The biggest dick of them all?"_ _

__"You _are_ the biggest dick of them all, fucking _brat_." Damian managed to deadpan it and for a solid ten seconds Jon just stared up at him and then he began to shake with laughter, finally half falling off the bed as he hooted. "Hear that Metropolis?! I've got the biggest fucking cock!" He cackled and rolled completely off the bed, settling on his knees and peering up at Damian from the floor._ _

__The distinct sound of a zipper met Damian's ears and he instantly felt a hundred degrees hotter. "Jon," he warned, flicking his gaze toward the door and then back again, trying to imply Clark was listening, too._ _

__Jon laughed and his zipper was pulled back up. "Aww, you're no fun." He winked at him and then shoved himself to his feet, making a big scene of stretching right in front of Damian, and if Damian didn't miss the fact that he was at least half-hard in his jeans, then it wasn't entirely Damian's fault. After all, he'd been mentally prepped to look._ _

__Their eyes met again and Jon just grinned at him. "So Mr. Not-So-Bad-Himself... Racers 4000 or BattleGear: Mission Ops?"_ _

__And _that_ , Damian decided, was why Jon was his best friend. He'd accepted him, then they'd joked around and now here he was moving them on from what could have been a really tense series of moments into them being completely _normal_. Just a regular night at his friend's place. He relaxed into it and thanked everything he could think of that he'd met Jon, that his bratty teenaged-self had ever let him in. _ _

__Some people were worth the world and Damian was pretty sure Jon was one of those._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [youcantsaymylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname) has made me some artwork for this story completely outside the bounds of the Big Bang. ♥ You're the best and this means the world to me!  
>   
> 


End file.
